Jackanory
by 15thBurningFiddle
Summary: America fights for his independence. It's not easy, and the people who love and hate you won't just step out of your way. Sometimes you have to give up things you will never get back. Rev. War fic US/UK, Prussia/US. M for mild yaoi.
1. A

There is death in the air; it lingers on his clothes and in his hair, swirling into his nose like incense, heady and thick. It smells like gunpowder and sweat, salty and metallic.

His heavy breathing and his horse's clopping steps are the only sounds he hears. They bleed into a low monotony that wraps around his skull and squeezes like an enemy's hands.

At times like this, his motivation is the only thing keeping him from falling asleep. Oh, and the pain. Always the pain. Some loyalist with a broken musket and a lot of guts blew his own fucking hand off, the idiot, while he was trying to detach his bayonet and fire at once. America had gotten singed badly-his forearm shiny and his hair rough and blackened. Some small cuts and a long, thin gash on his hip that stung a lot but bled little.

But, hell, what's a little blood when so much is at stake?

* * *

A/N: Okay, so this is gonna be my first multichapter Hetalia fic. Yay. I have the next four chapters written already. Some are relativelylong, some short as hell. It's basically a just for kicks Revolutionary War fic, around Valley Forge. I warn you, I ruined history. but I actually did research, so...yeah. I'm trying my best.

Chapter 2 up soon.


	2. B

"Everything has a cost America." The silver haired man grinned, his pink tongue flicking against his bottom lip.

America looked into his lust filled eyes and knew immediately what he meant.

"No." Bile rose in his throat and he almost leapt out of his chair. But he stayed still. Showing weakness in front of this monster would be like petting a hungry lion.

"Your men will be useless without me." His voice was silk as he slid a finger along America's thigh under the small table, the candles placed on the dark wood conjuring eerie shadows along Prussia's face and the folds of the tent. His venetian red eyes smoldered like hell's fire.

Red. Red like blood, red like love and lust, red like coats. People who wanted to control him. Wanted him. Was there no end to these scavengers and dogs?

America stood up, making the table and candles wobble. "I'll find someone else then." His voice was thick with weariness and anger.

Prussia laughed. "Who? Who else would help a weak upstart colony?"

"France." America stared into those burning eyes.

"Only to get back at England. Which, I admit, is a pretty big motivation for me too." Prussia scooted his chair back and put his black boats on the table, crossing them at the ankles.

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend." America frowned.

"Hm. France said he'd give you a hand, didn't he? Well, France sucks at fighting. Doesn't even give a damn if you win or lose, as long as England is irritated. In fact he expects you to lose. He asked me to come over here and shape up your men, make them at least a bit of an annoyance to ol' Arty. Bunch of _wichser _farmers, he said." He spat. "For once he doesn't lie-your men are almost as bad as his."

"We aren't officially trained-

"I can see that. Listen, Yankee Doodle, give me some of that ass and I'll train your farmers. I'm not gonna argue with you anymore. If you don't make a decision in five seconds I'll leave you and the frog to croak."

America scraped his nails along his palm. "I…"

Prussia stood.

"…Fine. I accept."

Prussia smiled.

* * *

A/N: So the USA loses it's virginity. Hmm.

I'm not good at it, but I like writing Prussia.

Wischer=Wanker. A friend and not-so-reliable-source says it can also mean failure. Corrections are loved much. if I get positive feedback so far I will continue quickly. If not, I'll go at my own pace-I'm having fun here.


	3. C

America slid the window up, having unlocked it before he left for this purpose. Sneaking back into his and England's house. Of course, he shouldn't have even bothered being this careful. England was focusing on Europe right now, and hadn't been to visit for a long time.

But it was better safe than sorry.

America pushed back the billowing white curtain and jumped over the sill. He scurried towards his room, stripping himself of his clothes on the way. His Indian style head band, his deerskin tunic, the feathers. Wouldn't do to be caught in this getup. He turned the doorknob with a small wooden 'creeeek', entered his room, ad headed straight towards the dresser where his wash basin was so he could wash the dirt and coal off his face.

Throwing the clothes into a pile in the corner, he permitted himself a small smile of triumph now that he was safe. Throwing water on his face and patting it down with a cloth, he almost sent the small porcelain bowl tumbling to the floor when the other person in the room finally spoke.

"I worry about you a lot, America."

He turned, his face pallid. "E-England?"

The blonde man didn't reply. The bed creaked as he stood, his viridian eyes glowing in the darkness.

"I-was just going to bed." America's throat suddenly dried. "Just got back from the bar…"

He stalked towards America. his eyes followed the other countries' movements as he glided silkily across the room, his leather boots making precise sounds against the wooden floor. Alfred stared down into his face as he looked up at him though thick lashes. The shorter man looked like he had been…crying?

Arthur cupped his still wet face in his left hand and put the other arm against the wall, boxing Alfred in between his body and the dresser. He traced the water trailing down his face with a fingertip. America's stomach shook and jumped like a frightened beast. Arthur smelled like Earl Grey and his natural scent, almost like the sea but earthy. What America used to curl up with at night, when thunder shook his house and nightmares swam in his head.

"I worry about you a lot." Arthur murmured. He raised his lips to America's and smashed them together.

America's eyes widened and he struggled, like an animal in a trap. Heat spread in his mouth as his

(oppressorbrotherprotector)

ruler forcefully slipped his tongue in, entangling it with his. It was strange, someone else inside of him. In a normal situation he might have liked it. But now it burned and he could taste the tea England had drank with dinner and fear. Arthur grinded against him and nipped at his lip, receiving a moan from America in return. He couldn't stop it, his body seemed to be seprate from him, uncontrollable. He knew he didn't want this at all-it was purely physical.

Finally England pulled away. He panted, looking into America's confused face, his iceberg blue eyes blank with shock.

America didn't know if he should bury his face into England's coat or slap him, cry or hide. He could see the hunger and blazing anger on his face. He wanted to cover his half naked body with something that wasn't there.

England smirked. He slithered his hand around to America's ass and squeezed. His smile widened when America made a small sound and flinched.

"We will discuss your punishment in the morning." He turned and headed for the door.

America slid down the wall silently, a wall of emotion blocking his throat.

His fear was slowly twisting itself into anger.

* * *

A/N: EDITED, because I hated the flow. Bah. I'm terrible at sex/romance. I apologize. Any tips would be welcome. I've been reading as much as I can and dissecting it, which is halfway working.


	4. A2

He was on his way to a meeting he had set up recently with one of his men- Nathan Le Crox, a young man from Britain with French parents. He had recently come to America, fearing for his life after being revealed as a spy by the British government. His information on the limey's naval fleet was invaluable, even if the man was a bit…off. His most recent message, sent by patriot to patriot along the coast line of New England, was very brief and atrociously coded. America was suspicious. There were many possibilities as to why the spy's message was so strange, and he didn't like any of them. The most probable one was that it was an imposter.

So, Alfred was headed for Jozef's Tavern in New York.

Every time his horse's hooves hit the ground with a 'clop!' he would cringe, his head still pounding from the explosion from earlier. He was tired, his horse was tired, even the day seemed to be tired as the sun hung half out of the sky and half in. The sunset was beautiful though. You could see New York darkly silhouetted against the blurred oranges and violets of the sky. Riding into the sunset. Alfred liked that image very much.

He rode into the city quietly, sticking to the less popular and more grimy streets. A few people he knew passed, but he kept his hellos to himself. Something wasn't right. His unease made his skin prickle and hair stand on end.

Maybe he should go back…

Hell no.

Heroes don't give up.

* * *

A/N :Haven't written the next A, but I have written the one after next. And the final is chapter 9, I believe. Might be pushed back to 12. Next C is a treat to any Russia fans, I suppose. THen some more Prussia will be in order, because B will make you hate me. ;)


	5. B2

Dear England, Jan 18th 1777

I just wanted you to know that your _former _colony is good in the sack, for a virgin.

I'm surprised you didn't fuck him already-didn't have the balls for it, did you? I'm not surprised.

The Awesome,

Prussia

* * *

Prussia- Feb. 20th 1777

You fuck around with my colony and I'll kill you.

Sincerely,

England

* * *

Dear England, March 31st 1777

Too late.

The Awesome,

Prussia

* * *

A/N: Do you hate me? ^^


	6. C2

America loved visiting England's home. To him, it was like seeing different sides of Arthur wherever he looked. Peasant farmers working in their fields, rich women in fancy dresses, artists perched on a window sill smoking tobacco. (Tobacco _I_ grew. He thought smugly.)

Every person, every voice on the wind and every smell was all Arthur. America wanted to bury himself in it, absorb it all. (Maybe, if he was more like them…)

England would laugh less and be more impatient, scowl more when they were in his home. Because, America thought, I embarrass him. Or maybe because I'm not like them enough.

So he would try. England put his napkin on his lap and his fork on a certain side of his plate (which one again?) he smiled at ladies and tipped his hat if he had one. He never used words like ain't or damn when people were listening. He didn't squirm when he was bored or play with bugs.

Except when he had been drinking. When England drank he was more fun, if you ignored the smelly breath. He laughed more, he would give Alfred sloppy kisses on his cheek and piggyback rides, but he would lose his balance and they would fall to the grass, laughing and tussling. Sometimes he would say weird stuff and America would laugh and say sure, whatever.

Today was different. England wasn't drinking some port or beer after dinner with America on his lap. They were in a _bar, _like the ones they had at his house but different. England had never let America in a bar before, and said alcohol was bad. But Spain and South Italy used to let him have wine sometimes. It tasted funny and made him 'tipsy', or that's what Antonio said. Romano said he was really 'drunk off his ass.'

But England had dinner at a restaurant with his friends, and he had already been a little drunk off his ass when they left and went to a bar called Hammy's. It smelled like tobacco and England's breath.

America sat at a table alone, England having disappeared with one of the pretty Russian or whatever ladies that had come with the Zaar Peter. He liked Peter. He smiled a lot and had given him a wooden doll of a bear with more animals inside, like a fox and a hedgehog. The smallest one, which he liked best, was a mouse with a small pink nose.

Zaar Peter had lots of other people with him, a few pretty girls and lots of large, clean shaven men. One of them, a man with hair like the sand around the coast of New York and a soft looking pink scarf around his neck, sat alone at one of Zaar Peter's tables with a glass bottle of water. He looked sad.

America wanted to talk to him, but…what if England got mad? He always said be careful when you talk to strange people, especially the French. He said the French would do horrible and inappropriate things to you, if they wanted to. But this guy wasn't French, he was Russian.

America rolled his bear around in his hands, the smooth, polished wood feeling good on his skin. He glanced at the man under his eyelashes every once in a while, trying to gather enough courage to go over and say hello.

America breathed out quickly. Still rolling his doll in his hands he stood and bravely walked towards the lonely table. It was much quieter in the man's corner.

"M-may I sit here?" He asked.

The large man looked at him over the lip of his bottle and smiles slightly. "Yes, that would be fine." He sips the water.

America sat beside him. "My name's America, but you can call me Alfred. What's yours?"

"Russia."

"Nice to meet you, Russia." He smiled shyly. "Are you…Are you a country too?"

The man-Russia- nodded. "You are England's little colony, yes?" Russia blinked at him. He looked like a sleepy bear. "I've heard much about you from the others."

Alfred blushed. "I heard about you too. England has said some stuff about you before."

"Nothing good."

America shrugged. "I don't remember." He lied.

Russia snorted and sipped from his bottle. Close up, it didn't really look like water. "England doesn't like me very much."

"Why? You're nice." America grew bored of his doll and placed it on the table in front of him.

Russia shrugged his giant shoulders. "Many reasons. War, conflicts of interest."

"Why are you here then?"

"Like you, I am far away from Europe. I came here to learn things about their culture." He smiled. "I am going to become more like the west, catch up and become rich."

"Before Spain came and taught me about stuff like underwear and money I didn't know much. England said I was a savage." He frowned. "But they showed me that trading and doing what they say will make me better."

"You missed out on the Renaissance too." Russia said thoughtfully. He sipped his sparkly water again.

"What's that?" America asked.

"I don't know. I think it has something to do with art. But France said I wasn't the same because I missed it."

"Oh…."

America thought the Renaissance has something to do with Shakespeare and good Queen Bess, but he wasn't really sure. England liked talking about those people a lot. He would do all the funny voices for the people in the plays, like Sir Toby Belch and Bottom. He liked his Bottom voice best, especially when he would do his he-haw!

"Do you miss it?"

America snapped out of his thoughts. "Miss what?"

"The time before Spain and England colonized you. Do you think it was better?"

"I…I don't know. I remember some other people, a red haired guy that looked like England, and Sweden. But they didn't stay. The only one I had was Canada. I was lonely…until Spain, Holland, and England came along. I don't miss it. I'm not sure if it is better now, but I like it." America rubbed his eyes.

"That's the important thing." He sipped his drink once again. "We are very much alike, Amerika."

"Maybe. I'm not as big as you, and I'm not as powerful yet…"

"You will be someday. Maybe we can be allies, da?"

"Yeah…hey, what is that?" America pointed towards the almost empty bottle. "Is it special water?"

Russia laughed. "It is like water to me, but to you it would be like-" Russia pointed towards a group of drunk off their ass men dancing with each other, falling and vomiting occasionally.

"In one bottle? I've had wine before and it wasn't that bad."

"One bottle could kill a little one like you."

America's eyes widened. "Really?" He looked towards the Russian with new respect. "Could England drink it?"

"Maybe. Probably not." He glanced up and scanned the room. "Where is your England? It is about time for you to be in bed, don't you think?"

"I don't want to leave yet…anyway, he disappeared a long time ago. But he'll come back!" He tacked on hastily. "He doesn't forget about me."

(Often)

Russia looked unconvinced.

"It's 12:00 am…"

"He'll come back soon."

"The bar will close in an hour."

"He'll come back soon." He repeated. America forced back a yawn.

Russia made a sound in the back of his throat. "I saw him go off with Darya a few hours ago. He's not coming back soon, Amerika."

America grabbed his doll and squeezed it. "Are…are you sure?"

"Yes."

Something clogged the back of Alfred's throat. Sadness. England forgot about him. He should have stayed home, he should have stayed home-

He turned and pressed his face into Russia's arm, holding back sobs as he inhaled the smell of alcohol, tobacco smoke and burning wood.

"Eh?" Russia started as the boy latched onto him. "Um…Amerika?"

The wall broke and the boy started sobbing. "Arthur…"

"Shhh…" Russia looked around quickly, as if afraid of being accused of making the boy cry. "It's fine, it's fine…" He began stroking the boy's hair, wrapping his curl around his finger absently as he cooed to him in Russian. No one even glanced their way.

"I want to go home." Alfred hiccupped. "I should have never asked him to come…he should have said no, like he always does…Now I'm alone and he-" He choked and squeezed the wooden doll to his chest.

Russia sighed. "How about I bring to the inn with me? I'll take you to England in the morning."

"You can't take me to him now?" America asked thickly.

"He's probably not at home right now, Amerika. He's with that woman, remember? She is staying at a different inn than me, there were no room's left."

"S-so you'll take me to him in the morning? Promise?"

"I promise." Russia scooped him up with one arm and grabbed his vodka bottle with the other. America laughed wetly, wiping his face with his shirt sleeve. "Thank you, Russia." He curled up in his arms and nuzzled his face into his coat.

By the time Russia had left the bar and crossed the street America was asleep.

* * *

He woke up gradually, his eyelids fluttering open, and then closing immediately when light touched his lids. Goddamn it hurt…He moaned and felt around the bed, touching something warm. Why was America still in bed? Usually he would be awake by now...he supposed he could sleep in once. After all, he had been the idiot who got wasted while taking care of him. Getting drunk with that Czar had been glorious, and that bird…

His eyes snapped open. _That bird._

England sat up quickly and did a glance over of the room he had slept in, and-the woman he had slept _with. _Blonde hair, pale skin-probably blue eyed, if his memory was accurate.

Groaning, England started searching for his clothes. His shirt was by the door, his pants on the bed post…slowly he assembled his outfit and got dressed, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

Goddamn it again. If Alfred wasn't here, and he would have been kicked out of the pub come closing time…where the fuck was he?

Shit, shit shit, Shit.

Arthur practically ran out of the room, down the hall, and out of the dingy inn. Crossing the street, (Almost getting run over by a carriage and two horsemen) kept going til he reached the pub.

Which was closed. It was Sunday.

Cussing like a sailor, he looked in the alleys around the area. No Alfred, nothing but a bunch of purse snatchers gawking over their loot, a dead dog and some horse shit.

Wait, maybe one of the Russians knew where he was. The whole group couldn't fit into one inn…maybe the ones at the Lady had dropped him off somewhere? Perhaps. He should have asked that woman before he had run off. If would have looked idiotic, but his colony was more important that another lay.

Now, the Lady, the Lady. Where was it? On Blackburn street. Yes.

England raced towards the inn, mud puddles ruining his shoes and pants, carriages splashing dirty water on his hair and rumpled white button up. It had stains on it already anyway, and it probably was going in the garbage when this day was up.

Going though Blackwater Park would be much quicker. He decided. And getting run over wouldn't do anything for America.

Finding Blackwater was easy. They had been there just yesterday, feeding the ducks. America had complained about his suit, how hot it was. England had snapped at him, taken him home early. He could admit he had been a bit nervous yesterday, with Peter running amok in London, his boss, and America being with him. America had gotten sick on the boat only once, and after that had taken to the sea like a fish. He had been worried anyway. What if he got the flu…If he even sniffled in the next year he would be shipped home, he remembered thinking. What was the point of noticing sniffles if he couldn't even keep track of the important things?

He cut across some unused carriage tracks, the paths he knew from memory. The Lady was a bit away from the bridge that crossed the pond on the edge of Blackwater. He'd cut across the corner of the park diagonally, exiting just past the bridge.

A child laughed loudly and England flinched. That sounded like Alfred. Now he was bloody imagining things.

"Russia, look at the ducks!"

A giggle. "I see them, America."

"See that really big white one? What is it doing?"

He turned.

America was sitting on the railing. Russia had his arm around him, to prevent him from falling perhaps.

(ohGodhashebecomeone)

Russia turned and waved. Oh what the hell. He said something to America, who jumped on his back. Russia casually trotted towards England, whose eyebrows were furrowing in confusion and agitation. The rest of his body was frozen.

America was laughing as Russia gracefully dropped him in front of England. He smiled gently, his eyes cold. "Did you lose something?"

"Oh god Alfred-"

England wrapped his arms around the younger nation, holding him tightly against his dirty shirt. "I'm sorry-" He kissed the top of his head. "I am so sorry."

America smiled cheerfully. "It's alright! Hey, Arthur, look at that really big duck!" He pointed toward the black water.

"It's humongous." He agreed.

England looked up, maybe to thank the larger nation, maybe to tell him to _never touch America again, _but… Russia was gone.

* * *

A/N:

I thought vodka was special water once...I learned my lesson...

(Joking. Reeally.)

*cough* Nothing much to say here, except this is probably stretching history to the max. Peter the Great did go to England for a bit. Blackwater doesn't exist, neither do the inns.

The doll Peter gives America is a matryoshka.

And the really big duck? I thought I typed something different too. ;)


End file.
